


Daddy Issues

by runrarebit



Series: Misfits Moments [20]
Category: Misfits (TV 2009)
Genre: AU, Alternate Timeline, Bottom!Nathan, Crossdressing, Dead!Nathan, Family Bonding, M/M, Murder, Nathan having feelings, Nathan trying to do the right thing, Simon fucking up, Violence, also regular enemas, knickers, some mentions of homophobia, yet more mentions of that piss enema thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-17 13:49:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18966508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runrarebit/pseuds/runrarebit
Summary: Set not long afterFuture Simon Versus Future Simon, during S02E05.Nathan spots a lovely pair of knickers he'd rather like for himself- unfortunately they're on Jessica at the time.





	Daddy Issues

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: For violence and being in Nathan's head when he's getting killed. 
> 
> I hope you all had a great week! As always I just want to thank you all for reading, commenting and leaving kudos!

To be honest he’s not really thinking about what he’s saying at the time. Simon’s had to go have tea with his parents, because he’s dad’s back from Sweden for a couple of days and it’s important to his mum that they have some “family time”— so he’s mainly been snoozing, waiting for it to get dark and for Simon to come back. Neither of them much like the separation— him because he hates being away from his boyfriend at the best of times, Simon because it’s only been a couple of days since that psycho cunt who thought everything was a videogame decided for some reason he was both Conti and the undercover cop and shot him in the head. Right in front of his boyfriend. His boyfriend whose wrists were tied together and slung over a meat-hook so Simon couldn’t even try to do anything to save him.

Honestly he’s really fucking grateful for that. He comes back when he’s killed, Simon doesn’t.

He doesn’t like it though, dying. It feels horrible as it’s happening and horrible when he comes around— at least this time he didn’t shit himself, so there’s that, and his bowels in general have been better behaved than the first time. 

He’s kind of been thinking about doing something special for his boyfriend— not just a “sorry I died in front of you again” present, but just because he likes making Simon happy— and horny. Let’s not forget horny. He likes knowing his boyfriend finds him sexy— it makes him feel even sexier, funnily enough. 

Except he’s got no real ideas— even after lying around half-heartedly thinking about it for hours. They could try that thing again, where Simon pisses up his arse, but everyone walking in and finding them doing it seems to have soured that particular fantasy for his boyfriend.

So, he finally drags himself out of bed to clean up, brush his teeth, maybe have a shower, consider whether this is an enema needing situation— and the moment he strolls into his bathroom there she is. Cute girl. Cute arse. Cute legs. He doesn’t even really notice though, mind all on the knickers she’s wearing. _Yes. Something like that._ — White, he thinks, little flowers, something innocent looking— hmm maybe more lace—?

She notices him there, looking at her, yelps ‘Jesus!’— but it’s not really her, he’s looking at her pants. 

He apologizes, asks where she got them— maybe he could find something suitable at the same place? What time does a knicker shop shut anyway? It’s probably too late in the day, he’ll have to sneak off and surprise Simon with them tomorrow. 

She tells him to piss off, calls him a pervert. He makes some dumb comment about her having a look if it was him wearing them and standing all bent over like that, adds that she could look but not touch, and then goes swanning off to brush his teeth.

While he’s brushing them he’s vaguely contemplating the fact that once upon a time he would have been looking at her with more interest— she’s still a cute girl, he still finds cute girls cute, but in comparison to Simon— 

Girly tits and arse and cunt on one hand, Simon’s shoulders and hands and arms and cock and personality on the other— no comparison really. 

It’s funny. Even _he_ would have expected to fuck up this thing they have already, to get bored or to let his hands and eyes and cock go wandering, but he’s actually perfectly, _blissfully_ happy in their relationship— and that bliss is apparently enough to put something of a yoke on him— 

It’s just, no one else has ever been as good to him— in bed, out of bed, _always_ — as his boyfriend. And he wants that. Is greedy to keep that—

And then the lights go out. He gets this sense that someone’s in the room with him— and someone who isn’t Simon. He lets himself run his mouth, eyes flicking back and forth, hands outstretched, trying to find whoever it is in the dark. His heart is beating in his throat, in his ears— what do they want? What are they going to do to—? Is anyone actually there? Maybe he’s just being a twat—

He’s grabbed and there’s pain and pain and pain and pain and pain and pain and something cracks, cracks, gives way, and his brain feels like it’s fizzing out of his ears and then there’s nothing—

He wakes on his mattress, Simon a tense, trembling pillar of rage beside him. ‘What happened?’ is what Simon says the moment the man realises he’s alive again. 

This is not, strictly speaking, the response he wants. Where are the cuddles? Where are the kisses? Where is all the affectionate touching? ‘Someone attacked me when I was brushing my teeth,’ he replies, tentatively reaching a hand up to his head, feeling over the side of it where he thinks it must have caved in before he— he shudders. He’d been blind by then, thoughts scattered, but he was aware enough that part of him knew what was happening.

‘Why?’ Simon demands. ‘Who was it? Did you see them?’

‘Fuck, my head hurts,’ he sighs, sitting up carefully. He’s still in the same clothes— the t-shirt and briefs— he has in when he died. There’s dried blood on him. Simon didn’t even clean him up this time. He starts having— feelings.

‘ _Nathan,_ I need you to pay attention,’ Simon grits out. He sounds so angry. Is Simon angry with him? What did he do wrong? Simon shouldn’t be angry with him, should he? ‘What happened? What do you remember?’ 

‘I was just brushing my teeth and the lights went out and then someone bashed my head in against something— the sink I think,’ he replies, sounding weak and pathetic and twattish. He blinks, trying to stop his eyes from watering like that. 

‘I found blood on the edge of the urinal, the mirror, as well as the sink,’ Simon says, as if that’s just something to say and not even pet him for a bit first. Like it’s just conversation.

‘Alright then!’ he says, voice sounding bright and brittle, ‘I think I’ll just go have a shower. Wash all this blood and brain and other people’s piss off me—’ it ends in a sob. He doesn’t mean for it to. 

He sees Simon startle, some of the ice melting in those cold, grey eyes. ‘Nathan—’ 

He dodges the arms reaching for him, drags himself to his feet— regretting it once he’s upright. He hurts— body stiff, head aching— and he feels weak and wobbly the way he always does. Simon calls to him again, tries to grab him, but his gaze is caught on the old blood now on their— _his_ sheets and how little care his boyfriend seems to have taken of him this time. 

‘Shower,’ he repeats. ‘I’m going to go and—’ He staggers away, ignoring the sound of Simon getting to his feet behind him. 

The stairs are hard to manage with as wobbly as he is— in fact he almost goes down them arse over tit at least once. Behind him he can hear Simon repeating his name, but what’s the point? He wants to get away from his boyfriend—he’s very careful not to blink, because if he does the wet and watery film in front of his vision is going to drip down his cheeks and he won’t be able to pretend he’s not crying. 

Simon catches him at the bottom of the stairs, spinning him around very gently. He squeezes his eyes shut so he doesn’t have to see the man’s face, then wishes he hadn’t as the tears escape in ticklish lines that run down his face and drip off his chin. ‘Nathan,’ Simon says again, but it sounds so agonized that he can’t help the way his eyes pop open and his gaze goes directly to his boyfriend’s face. Simon looks miserable.

‘I’m sorry,’ Simon says, reaching up and brushing a hand very gently across the side of his face that was so recently caved in. ‘Dinner ran late—‘ Simon is trembling, the hand falling from his face so both hands can come to rest on his shoulders, ‘and when I got back I couldn’t find you. I knew you didn’t have any plans, weren’t likely to go out without even texting me— I looked everywhere for you— I looked—’ 

Simon squeezes his eyes shut, tilts his head away, an expression between agony and fury coming over his features. He is very calm when he starts talking again, very calm, those grey eyes opening and fixing on his own, ‘When I found you— you were starting to go cold. Your body was starting to stiffen up— I don’t know how long you’d been dead for, but it has to have been at least two hours. At least two hours, lying there, on the floor like that— I didn’t know what had happened. I knew someone had killed you, but I didn’t know who, or why, or when— and what if someone else had found you first? They would have dialled 999— they might have come and taken you away from me— You might have woken up in a _morgue_ —' By the end of it Simon’s hands are claws around his shoulders, the grip bruisingly tight.

‘No one did,’ he says, trying to sound reassuring, even though— look— to be perfectly honest, embarrassing as it is, his _feelings_ are still kind of hurt. ‘You found me first.’

‘No, no one did,’ Simon repeats, shaking his head, ‘Instead someone killed you and just left you there like you were rubbish. I wasn’t even here. I couldn’t even keep you _safe_ — First Lucy, then that bastard with the gun, now this—’

‘I’m immortal,’ he points out, ‘it’s not like it matters.’ What matters is how sweet to him Simon is after, only Simon hasn’t been sweet to him this time. There’s just been the pain and fear and then feeling like crap about himself while feeling like crap generally speaking. 

‘ _Of course it matters,_ ’ his boyfriend hisses. ‘I hate it. I hate you getting hurt, dying, I hate knowing there’s someone— more than _one_ someone— that prick who shot you and now whoever did this to you— running around out there, still alive. I _hate_ it.’

Simon has been moody for the last few days, since his last death— well, the death before his last death now. Since he was shot in that warehouse. Still, it’s not like it’s his fault— ‘I didn’t mean to get beaten to death,’ he points out, because he feels it’s important he does so.

‘I know,’ Simon says, voice suddenly extremely gentle, hands easing in their claw-like grip of him, starting to rub at his shoulders. ‘I know you didn’t. I’m sorry, as I said, it just— it frightened me. I just wanted to— to _do_ something about what happened. I forgot for a moment that it affects you, too, when you die. I wasn’t thinking.’

‘Ok,’ he says after a moment, still feeling a bit— _off_ — ‘Ok. I think I’ll just—’ he looks down at himself, gestures vaguely at the splotches of what used to be inside his skull splattered over him, ‘—I want a shower. Can you maybe change the sheets? I don’t want to have to sleep in my own brain matter.’

Simon winces. ‘I’ll come in with you—’ his boyfriend hesitates, ‘If you want me to. Even if you don’t— we don’t know if whoever killed you is somewhere nearby— I searched everywhere here, so I think they’ve left— but they might come back. I’d feel better if I could stay with you while you shower.’ A little frown appears between Simon’s brows, ‘I wish we could go back to my place, but my parents are home— maybe you should go to your mum’s—’ the last is said with obvious reluctance— and it’s that, the way he can tell Simon hates the idea of being away from him so soon after him being killed, that makes whatever feels so cold and brittle in his chest start to soften up. 

‘I don’t suppose you have money for a hotel room?’ he suggests, snuggling in close to his boyfriend, feeling Simon relax a little, arms coming up around him. Honestly he doesn’t really like the thought of sleeping here after being killed here again— and it’s not like with the shapeshifter, he knows what happened to the shapeshifter and unless she spontaneously develops post mortem immortality he knows he doesn’t have to worry about her showing up again and shoving him on any more pipes, but whoever killed him this time— he doesn’t even know who it was, doesn’t know what they might do to Simon if they come back and find them both, asleep and defenceless. 

Simon shakes his head. It makes several thoughts he doesn’t want to have flash across the back of his mind about the fact one of them, at least, is going to have to get a job the way things are going. His mum gives him a bit, now and then, and Simon’s parents give him a considerably larger allowance more regularly— but it’s not enough for them to do whatever it is they want to be doing— and it relies entirely too much on parental largesse. 

Largesse that might disappear when the parents in question find out about them. 

It should probably be him. Simon’s got the kind of smarts and the kind of personality which will do better with a bit more education and a more white-collar job. He doesn’t want to ruin his boyfriend’s prospects—

Oh God. He’s such a twat. 

He’ll worry about it another night. He hates worrying. 

‘What about your dad’s?’ Simon asks.

Which is how the two of them show up on Mike’s doorstep at half past three in the morning, him freshly showered— Simon hovering around him the entire time, a cricket bat from one of the storage rooms in hand in case the murderer showed up again— hanging off Simon because his legs don’t really want to keep him upright so soon after being dead, and what must be a worryingly wild look in his boyfriend’s eyes.

His father makes a nearly incomprehensible questioning noise when he sees them, blinking blearily, wearing boxers and a t-shirt, a loose cotton robe twisted and tangled around him. ‘Nathan was attacked,’ Simon says in response to what might have been a question as to what the fuck they are doing showing up in the wee hours and making his dear old dad crawl out of bed to deal with it. ‘We need somewhere to sleep tonight.’

‘Is this because of the— you know,’ Mike gestures absently at them, ‘The _gay thing?_ Was it a gay bashing?’ his father’s gaze focuses a bit more, the man peering at him in something like concern, ‘Do you need to go to the hospital or call the cops or something?’

‘It didn’t get that far,’ Simon says, obviously having decided that him being gay bashed is probably an easier sell than what actually happened. ‘We’re just a bit shaken up— and since it happened where Nathan lives neither of us felt comfortable with him staying there tonight.’

‘A friend of your flat mates’?’ Mike asks, seeming to have jumped to a bunch of erroneous but useful conclusions. 

‘Something like that,’ Simon replies. 

‘Alright,’ his dad says, nose wrinkling up. ‘I’ve got a bed in the spare room, but I’ve been using the room as my study so I’ll have to shift some stuff. I’ll try and find some spare sheets or something. It’s pretty crappy, just so you know— I don’t think I paid more than a hundred quid for the mattress.’

‘That’s fine,’ Simon says. To him it sounds wonderful. An actual bed, a mattress worth something in the region of a hundred pounds— indescribable luxury compared to the setup he has at the Community Centre. 

His dad starts off towards the spare room before pausing, eyes flickering over him before the man addresses Simon, ‘Is he alright? I’m just saying— I think this is the quietest I’ve ever seen him.’

‘I’m fine,’ he says with a weak shrug. ‘Shaken, like Barry said. Would it help if I call you a cunt or something?’

‘Hm,’ his father murmurs, still frowning. ‘Yeah, no thanks. How about you two put the kettle on while I sort this out. Hot tea and lots of sugar, that’s supposed to help, isn’t it?’

It feels surreal, sitting on his dad’s couch, waiting for the man to make up a bed for them, drinking a cup of overly sweet and milky tea his boyfriend made him. They snuggle in close, Simon’s arm around him, him mostly lounging across the other man the way he likes. He feels guilty for earlier, for getting upset, for not wanting Simon to touch him— no matter how he tries to convince himself it’s a reasonable response to not getting cuddles and kisses after waking up from being dead when _Simon_ has trained him to expect cuddles and kisses after waking up from being dead. 

Mike comes back just as Simon is taking the empty cup from him to stick it in the sink. His father points out the bathroom, shows them to the spare room, and then totters off back to bed, saying before he goes, ‘Don’t— don’t fuck in it, ok? I don’t think I’m psychologically prepared to have to clean up after that.’

It’s an easy promise to keep. He’s exhausted, Simon may be trying to hide it but he can tell the man is still burning with a cold fury, and this is his father’s flat— All not very arousing. They curl in together, bodies pressed close like they’ve been trained into by sleeping on the shitty mattress at the Community Centre, even though there’s now all this bed to either side of them.

In the morning— the _morning_ morning, when the sun’s up and the birds are singing and they’ve all stumbled out of bed looking and feeling as shit as a night like the one before will guarantee— he has breakfast with his father and his boyfriend in his father’s flat. It is horribly weird. 

Mike just looks at him a lot for most of it— Muesli of all things. Muesli or multigrain toast with marmalade. He actually _choses_ the muesli. He _hates_ multigrain anything, it always gets stuck in his teeth— If he wasn’t so exhausted and sick of being murdered he’d probably kick up more of a fuss. 

Before they all leave for the day his dad says, ‘I’m going around to see Jamie at his aunt’s this evening, if you two want to come with me?’

His brother’s out of the hospital, but hasn’t wanted to go back to Ireland just yet, not while whatever it is he’s got going with that girl is still going, so he’s staying with his mum’s cousin or whatever she is. Aunt that isn’t his mum’s sister— He’s even talking of maybe moving to London. 

They agree, then end up agreeing to come out to dinner, and then sleep the night at his dad’s again— ‘Just until you’ve got this whatever it is sorted out and you feel safe to go home.’ Then his dad gives him twenty quid, just in case he needs anything.

‘He’s worried about you,’ Simon says as they walk back to the Community Centre, Simon’s hand on his lower back, him draped over his boyfriend’s shoulders. He still feels like crap. He wonders if it’ll get easier, dying, waking up? This time was easier than the last, the last easier than the first. If it keeps happening he hopes he reaches a point where he just wakes right back up and doesn’t feel like this the day after.

‘Like fuck he is,’ he mutters.

‘He _is_ ,’ Simon insists. ‘He asked me about you when you were brushing your teeth, said you were funny the last time he saw you too—’

‘Yeah, but that was because of the tattoo thing,’ he points out.

Simon lets it drop at that, which he’s thankful for, because there’s no way he wants to argue with his boyfriend about his dad. 

‘Where have you two been?’ Kelly greets them as they enter the locker room.

‘Someone killed Nathan last night,’ Simon answers.

There’s a bunch of questions after that, but it’s not like either of them have any answers other than “beat my head in against one of the sinks” and “they turned off the lights first so I didn’t see who it was” and “I found him when I got back from my parents’ house” so in the end everyone just goes about their day.

There’s some charity run thing being organised so of course they get roped in to help out. Simon’s hovering and affectionate and protective again, and he glories in it, encouraging his boyfriend into petting and cuddling him instead of doing the work they’re supposed to do, until the prick probation worker comes over and tells them off— ordering him to put up some stupid banner and Simon to go and move some boxes. 

He tells the prick that he can’t do this, that this is homophobia, that he’s just challenged by the purity of their love and probably shamefully aroused at the thought of Simon ploughing away at him— at which point he thinks the probation worker is actually going to shove him, but then Simon’s between him and there’s this look in his eyes that says they’re about a split second away from needing Curtis to rewind time and un-kill this probation worker again, so he grabs his boyfriend and pulls him away, telling the prick that his suggestion is an excellent one and they’ll just go do that now. 

They kiss, once, before they separate, and he ends up trying to hang the stupid banner by himself. 

It’s funny how well trained he is. He hears Simon’s voice— across the room and not even talking to him— and immediately he looks up. His boyfriend is talking to a cute girl— a very familiar cute girl—

It takes him a while to place her—

_Knickers._

The second after he realises, he also realises she was the last person he saw before he was beaten to death— and, that she hadn’t seemed all at impressed with him at the time— and she’s now talking to _his_ boyfriend. 

He’s over there, draping himself across Simon’s shoulders, the moment the thought registers. As he approaches his boyfriend is kind of awkwardly— and in that tone that says he’s trying to be gentle with someone— apologizing and saying he’s already seeing someone. ‘That would be me,’ he pipes up, giving her a _look._

He’s trying for _back off he’s mine_ and _I know you killed me last night, well guess what? It didn’t work_ at the same time, but he’s not sure he’s managing. 

‘O-oh,’ is all she manages, and then, ‘I-I-I should get back to— to, um, what I was doing.’

The moment she stumbles off Simon pulls him into his arms and blathers some reassuring shit about rejecting her and not finding her even half as pretty as Simon finds him. It makes him shiver a little, pleased, before he opens his mouth to address the issue at hand—

Before quickly shutting it again. If he tells Simon that he thinks it was her that killed him, then Simon will just go and kill her— and what if he’s wrong? It’s not like he saw her murdering him, or that he has definitive evidence that she did. He doesn’t think Simon would like to accidentally murder an entirely innocent person. In fact, if _he_ is the cause of Simon murdering an entirely innocent person Simon might not be all that happy with _him_ — Oh God. He’s actually going to have to be sensible about this and not just go off half cocked.

‘What?’ Simon asks, peering at him with curiosity.

‘I was just thinking about how wonderful you are,’ he replies, an easy sell considering how often he thinks it. 

They kiss for a bit before the probation worker shows up again, standing next to them and clearing his throat in the most obnoxious way an already obnoxious man is capable of. He sticks both sets of fingers up at the man as he sulks off back to his stupid banner, changing direction and heading over to Curtis and Alisha when he spots them. 

‘I think it’s her,’ he nods at the cute girl, over there writing something on a clipboard. Then he has to explain to them that he thinks she’s the one who murdered him, and that he was looking at her _knickers_ and not her— thinking about whether Simon would like him in a pair— when they start carrying on when he mentions walking in on her changing. 

‘Well, why not tell Simon then?’ Alisha asks.

‘ _What if I’m wrong?_ You know how he’ll react.’

They do know how he’ll react.

The two of them look at each other, before Alisha speaks, ‘Well, what do you expect us to do about it?’ 

‘I don’t know, keep an eye on her? See if she looks like she’s going to murder any other exceptionally handsome young men—?’ he glances at Curtis, ‘You should probably keep an eye on him too then, I mean, you can keep your cock to yourself—’ Curtis’ noise wrinkles up, ‘I’m not interested personally— I mean, you’re not a patch on Simon and then there’s the _personality_ — but even I’ve got to admit you’re a good looking guy.’

‘I really don’t know whether to thank you or punch you for that,’ Curtis muses, shaking his head.

The thing is that she doesn’t do anything obviously murderous, just hangs around organising this charity run, so by the end of the day he doesn’t have any evidence either way. 

He’s not enjoying this whole situation much. 

At least Simon is still being sweet to him. 

They end up shagging at lunch in one of the storage rooms— not Curtis and Alisha’s usual one, because the charity run people were actually moving stuff in and out of it— but one of the other ones, mainly sports equipment, nice padded matt to go at it on. He’s not sure he’s quite up to shagging in the loos just yet, or at least not until whoever it was killed him in the bathroom has been discovered or enough time has passed he doesn’t think they’ll try and do it again— and it’s not like they can just go at it on his mattress in the middle of the day in front of everyone. Well, they _could_ , but it might put Simon off his stroke— or give the probation worker an actual _stroke_ — or a stiffy, and yuck. 

So, even if he’s no closer to knowing if that cute girl who thinks his boyfriend is a cute guy is actually a murderer, by the end of the day’s community service he is feeling at least a tiny bit better about the world. 

His dad actually picks them up in his car, the two of them sitting pressed together in the back seat, and then they go to see Jamie. It feels good to be able to wrap his arms around his brother, memories of the man burnt and bleeding flickering across his mind. Jamie’s doing so well he can come out to dinner with them, and that’s an interesting experience. 

His dad actually volunteers to pay, for _all_ of them of all things, but Simon insists on paying for himself with what little money he does have. 

It’s— he doesn’t want to admit how nice it is, sitting there, leaning against his boyfriend, attention split between the incredibly intense conversation Mike and Simon fall into about films he’s never even heard of and Jamie chatting about his plans. His brother’s going to stay with his aunt for a couple of months, in which time he’s going to see how things are going with Lily and try to get some work to save up some more money. If things are going well he’s planning to go back to Ireland for a couple of weeks in December, to see his mum and pack his things, before coming back to London just before Christmas, so he and Lily can spend the holiday with her family and then try and get a flat together. 

It’s all very sensible and grown up and the him of before Simon would have called Jamie a twat for it and taken the piss as viciously as he could, but— he glances at Simon, talking to his dad so animatedly, yet still squeezing him gently with the arm around his waist— but he gets it now. Wanting to be with someone. Wanting that kind of domesticity. He’s happy for his brother.

Jamie tires earlier than he can tell the man wants to, so they take him back to his aunt’s and then all head back to his dad’s. There Mike and Simon keep talking about some stupid movie for a bit, before his dad actually gets out the DVD and suggests they watch it. Simon hesitates, making noise about _him_ finding it boring, but he waves off his boyfriend’s concerns. He does, actually, find it boring, but that just gives him an excuse to lounge over Simon and close his eyes and have a nice little nap curled up in the man’s arms, so he takes that as a win. 

The next day the cute possible murderess invites Simon and him and their “friends” to the costume party hosted by the charity after the run. Simon says it’s because he thinks ‘she feels guilty about being so weird about us being in a homosexual relationship.’

He almost tells his boyfriend to tell her to fuck off, but then it occurs to him— it’ll be dark, people will be wearing masks, there’s bound to be heaps of cute, murderable guys just hanging around— if they catch her in the act he’ll know for sure that she murdered him, and if they don’t, but don’t let her out of their sight and some other poor sexy little piece gets it in the neck then they’ll know it was someone else. 

Foolproof plan. 

Unless she just wanted to kill _him_ , specifically— but then she might try again and Simon can catch her doing it this time.

He actually even texts his dad to tell him they’re going to a party at the Community Centre and they’ll be late getting in. Kill him now— actually, _don’t._

They creep off at lunch to hire their costumes. Superheros, of all things. Simon’s idea, but the rest just go along with it. He’s thinking something stupid, a caricature of padded muscles with a grimace on his face like he’s about to shit himself constantly— until he sees what Alisha goes for. Then Kelly. 

Oh.

Oh _yes._

Simon would like that, wouldn’t he? 

He goes with red and black, made out of something skin-tight, shiny like he’s poured lube all over himself. Knee high boots, shoulder high gloves, little domino mask— Somehow he manages to keep his choice from Simon, even sneaking off to try it on while his boyfriend is chatting to Curtis about the latter’s choice of costume, loving the way it hugs the shape of him—but not the way every feature of his briefs are visible though it. Looks like a trip to the knicker shop after all.

While Simon is trying on his own choice of costume he finalises his hire, leaning in close to the bored looking girl behind the counter— who looks at what he’s chosen, looks at him, then says ‘If you get spunk on it you’ll have to pay the dry-cleaning fees’— _money well spent_ is his reply to her, making her wrinkle up her face— then asks what girls wear for pants under stuff like this if they don’t want everyone knowing all the details of their knicker drawer.

‘Oh,’ she sighs, ‘They either go without—’ her nose wrinkles up again, ‘which means _dry-cleaning fees,_ or they go for a thong, or some of those knickers that are supposed to not show the seams. The latter seem your best bet if you’re not into chafing— more coverage, looks less stupid. I had a boyfriend that liked wearing girls’ knickers and every time he wore a thong his balls would end up slipping out the side of it— not a good look.’

He thanks her, then calls out to Simon and the others that he’s just got to run an errand and that he’ll meet them back at the Community Centre. There’s some protest and some questions, but the suggestion he’s off to buy an enema kit to clean his arse out for his boyfriend quickly shuts them up. 

He gets the knickers in black. The ones he picks aren’t exactly sexy, more full coverage and institutional looking, but he remembers what the girl said. He doesn’t want his ballsack looking stupid when he’s trying to be sexy for his boyfriend. 

For the rest of the afternoon he’s buzzing, excited, can’t wait to see Simon’s face, feel Simon’s hands on him with only the thin film of shiny fabric between them. He almost forgets entirely about his possible murderer— but no one’s ever accused him of being the most focused guy.

Kelly’s upset though, and that almost entirely brings him down. She was alright earlier, so whatever it is must have happened since they got back from choosing their costumes. She won’t tell him what’s up, or not really, only saying she met this guy and thought he was alright but it turned out he was a prick. He asks her if she wants him— well, wants him to get Simon and Curtis— to go beat the guy up, but she declines and then asks to be left alone, which he isn’t entirely keen on, but if that’s what she wants—

It’s hard to convince Simon to get changed first, and then to let him get changed alone in the storage room, and he hates the look of rejection that crosses his boyfriend’s face for a moment— but he tells himself it’ll all be alright, the moment Simon sees him the man’ll understand. 

The moment Simon sees him his boyfriend makes a very satisfying “Hrurgh” noise, like he’s just been punched in the balls. 

‘Oh Jesus Christ,’ is Alisha’s response, seeming to speak for the others as well, when they manage to wander out into the party, him tottering in his heels, Simon unable to stop touching his waist and hips and arse. They’d both agreed they should dance for a bit, just a bit, before creeping off somewhere to shag— because once they do creep off that’ll probably be them for the night. ‘Did you have to?— Of course you had to, it’s you. I feel dirty just looking at you in that.’

‘You’re just jealous that I’m a sexier superhero than you,’ he declares, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend, ‘Come on Barry, let’s go dance.’

He vaguely hears Curtis saying something about him kidding himself if he thinks that he’s sexier than her, voice low and kind of turned on, and then Alisha replying with something he can’t quite hear, though he can tell she sounds pleased. 

The heels might have been a bad idea. The height difference is already mildly annoying at times, but now Simon’s mouth is basically nipple-height to him. Simon doesn’t seem to mind though, looking up at him in adoration and lust as they dance awkwardly together— him because he still hasn’t quite worked out the shoes, Simon because he still hasn’t quite worked out dancing.

Every now and then he spots someone giving them a _look,_ obviously jealous of their epic, movie-worthy homosexual love affair, so he deals with it mainly by sticking his fingers up at them or being a cunt if they come within hearing range. 

Alisha and Curtis dance near them for a while, even doing a bit of careful-not-to-touch-actual-skin grinding— so their relationship is doing well. He also sees his possible murderess dancing with some guy dressed like a horse— which is kind of funny considering she’s dressed like a cowgirl— doing a bit of careful, near-grinding too.

At some point Alisha and Curtis disappear and he hasn’t seen Kelly in ages and his own dancing with Simon has devolved from awkward _dancing_ to less awkward dry-humping so it’s probably time for them to creep off and shag. A glance is all it takes and Simon’s on the same page as him, the two of them piling out of the dance, his arms around Simon’s shoulders, Simon’s hands on his waist. ‘You look so fucking _gorgeous,_ ’ his boyfriend purrs.

His nest is still out of the question and Alisha and Curtis’ storage room seems to be already taken so they’re thinking maybe the roof, stumbling down the halls, kissing, touching, both of them without their masks, Simon’s hands navigating to his arse— he skids, Simon catches him.

He looks down and he knows what he just skidded in. That’s blood—

What? 

He looks up. There’s an older man just up ahead dragging the body of someone dressed like a horse, a trail of blood that he just stood in leading back the way they came. The man looks up, must have heard them, confusion— then _recognition_ in his eyes. ‘You’re dead,’ the man says, letting go of the horse-boy and straightening up. 

_Oh, so it wasn’t the cute girl._

He’s not exactly sure of all the details of what happens next. He does know that the man lurches at them, that Simon goes to defend him but slips in the blood, that the man punches his boyfriend in the face— and then _he_ loses his temper and somehow manages to grab the guy and spin him face-first into the wall. Somehow, miraculously, this knocks the guy out. 

Then he has to deal with Simon, who now wants to kill the guy, having put together the guy saying he was dead with him so recently having been beaten to death and come to the conclusion that this is his murderer. This _is_ probably his murderer, but— ‘Let’s just call the cops, ok? If you kill him we’ll have to get rid of him _and_ whoever this horseboy is.’ In the middle of a party, while the Community Centre is absolutely full of people. It’s too risky.

‘He deserves to be _punished,_ ’ Simon snarls. 

‘Look, he doesn’t look like the type of guy who’s going to _enjoy_ being gangbanged in the prison showers, so I’m sure he’ll be punished enough—’ But Simon’s not listening to him, instead squatting down beside the man and reaching out and— He hears footsteps, more than one set, rushing somewhere nearby, so he grabs Simon and drags him to his feet, shaking him a little, ‘I am _not_ letting you get done for murder, do you hear me? Now let’s go call the cops.’

Turns out the cops are already here, only up on the roof with Kelly and a dead gorilla wearing a gorilla costume. So there’s that. At least he stopped Simon— how the hell were they going to manage to hide a couple of bodies in a Community Centre swarming with police?

_Three_ bodies, apparently, because soon the police discover an entirely unaccounted for guy with his throat slashed shoved in one of the lesser-used storage rooms. This guy was prolific. Killing him, throat-slashed guy, and horseboy in only a couple of days. Also turns out the guy is the cute girl’s dad, so maybe he was right to be at least kind of suspicious of her. 

He gives his statement to a clearly uncomfortable police officer who is trying very, very hard not to look at any part of him lower than his face. Even his _lips_ seem to be giving the guy trouble. Simon gives his own statement to a less uncomfortable, though clearly still a _bit_ uncomfortable, other police officer— and then his dad shows up, having heard something about shots fired and bodies found at the Community Centre on the news. 

‘Oh Jesus, Nathan,’ is what he’s greeted with when Mike sees his costume, but his dad seems to get over it pretty quickly, bluntly arguing with the cops until they say they can go, and then driving them back to his place. 

‘I’m getting a beer and you’re both getting changed— in different rooms. _No fucking!_ and then I’ll order a curry or something. I’ve got another film I think you’ll like—’ the latter directed at Simon and not him. Does this mean his dad likes his boyfriend more that him? He waits for jealousy that oddly doesn’t come. 

He manages to convince his dad that they both deserve a beer too— not every day you hand a murderer over to the police instead of murdering them yourself— not that he says it quite like that to his dad, of course— and then they all settle in for another ridiculously domestic evening of eating while sitting on the couch, him getting completely lost and bored of the movie and napping on his boyfriend, while his dad and Simon watch it eagerly, trading commentary.

In the morning he tells his dad that he can go home now— which makes Mike frown at him but then just shrug and say, ‘If something like that happens again and you need somewhere to stay I want you to know you can come here,’ and then give him a hundred quid. This makes him have _feelings,_ but somehow he manages not to be a cunt about it and they part on pretty good terms. 

On their way back to the Community Centre he leans in and whispers, ‘I’m keeping the costume for a couple more days,’ thrilling at the excited way Simon grabs at him and kisses him. He doesn’t regret it either, the way Simon looks at him, touches him, kisses him, _fucks_ him when he wears it— and he wonders if any dry-cleaner will ever be able to get the strains out— and he feels special and pretty and loved and everything he wants to feel in his boyfriend’s arms. 

He does kind of have to admit to looking at the cute girl’s knickers eventually, _knickers_ — not cute girl— because Simon starts wondering about why the cute girl’s dad tried to kill him, but Simon’s jealous fury is calmed a bit by the suggestion that maybe the man could pick some out for him. White. Lacey— Life’s good.

Kelly’s miserable though, and eventually he gets the story out of her— but what is there to say really. _Sorry the most honest guy you’ve ever met was also a gorilla?_ He tells her she’ll find someone, because what straight guy with half a brain wouldn’t go for a bird like her, but he’s not sure she believes him. He thinks she believes he means it though, because he does, and does his best to _think_ his sincerity at her.

Anyway, community service is almost over— no one even kills him in the last week of it. In fact, about the only interesting non-Simon related thing that happens is that Curtis has them all go and beat up some guy with some lame power that lets him control milk.


End file.
